


Hung Hearts #1

by voleuse



Series: Hung Hearts [1]
Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-04
Updated: 2004-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>If kiss were conquest, were conclusion, I might be true.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hung Hearts #1

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Title, summary, and headings adapted from Karen Volkman's _When Kiss Spells Contradiction_.

_i. the clang _

One day, Sydney comes to work and finds out that Marshall's teaching a seminar in Paris, Dixon's on vacation with his kids, and her father has put her on a new assignment in the interim.

She tries to contain her surprise, as Eric and a blonde woman she doesn't recognize are in the room, as well. She smiles, blinks. "Sounds good."

Her father smiles, as much as he ever does. "It's not a complicated assignment, but the information is extremely sensitive." He gestures to the manila folder in front of her. "The cumulative field experience you and Agent Weiss share indicates that you're ideal for the mission."

Eric gives her a thumbs-up from across the room, then hastily drops his hand as Jack looks his way.

"Agent Belinda Saunders," he says, nodding at the blonde woman, "will handle communication on site. You'll be taking a flight to Rome in the morning."

He exits without another word.

Belinda smiles at them, then mimes wiping her brow. "Is he always like that?"

Eric shrugs. "Sometimes he's cranky."

Sydney laughs.

_ii. and strop of it_

It's a routine mission, but she gets caught anyway.

She doesn't have any backup, aside from Eric on point, and Belinda running communication in a van two blocks down, and it happens in a matter of seconds. She's completing a drop-off (three disks deposited in a toilet tank, fourth stall from the end) when three teenagers, previously chattering in French about the boys they would be meeting in the club, swivel on their heels and round on Sydney.

Before she can even think to wonder what was going on, two of them hit her with tranquilizers, which is probably overkill on their part, she thinks, as everything fades away.

She wakes in the trunk of a car, her knees pressing uncomfortably against a spare tire, and her eyes covered with a blindfold.

Her transceiver is missing, and her hands are tied.

All she can do is wait.

_iii. more a storm than a sending_

The car slows, swerves, then stops. She hears two car doors open, then shut, and when the lid of the trunk pops open, she kicks out, shouting loudly.

Her feet connect with someone's stomach, but someone else shoves her down. There's a prick against the back of her neck, and she slumps into a stupor.

The dose this time isn't enough to knock her out completely, so she's semi-aware as they drag her out of the car, across pavement and into a building. It gets brighter as they walk inside. Sydney slumps against her captors, unable to muster even a groan, but she feels plush carpet underneath her feet, and the building smells like an expensive hotel.

They're not far into the building when a muffled chattering reaches her ears, and one of her captors curses quietly, then yanks the cloth from her eyes.

She groans, not bothering to hide her discomfort, and her companions explain, loudly, to the group passing that she's had too much to drink.

The passersby laugh sympathetically, and Sydney manages to raise her head, look at them as they walk past.

One of them looks back, evaluation in his eyes.

As her captors drag her off, she manages to mouth his name.

_Sark._

_iv. I might be binded_

As soon as Sark's group is out of sight, Sydney turns her head, evaluates her captors. Holding onto her right arm is one of the teenagers that abducted her. On her left, his arm like a vise around her waist, is a man that Sydney's sure Francie would have nicknamed Wolverine.

She slumps a little more, pretending to be more out of it than she really is, and stares at the carpet. It's immaculate, and a rich color that confirms her suspicions about the price range of the hotel. She isn't prepared when they stop, so she stumbles, almost falls when they halt in front of a door.

The girl fumbles with the lock, opens the door and steps aside, allowing Wolverine to throw Sydney through the threshold.

She lands with her arms outspread, twisting her wrist sharply, bringing tears to her eyes. The pain, however, also clears some of the fog from her mind. She rolls onto her side, snarls. "What do you want?"

The girl smirks, walks away, and Wolverine ignores her, keying something into his cell phone.

"People will know I'm missing," Sydney spits out, only partly pretending to be an aggrieved American. "You won't get away with this."

"Your friend in the van?" Wolverine pockets his cell phone, idly kicks Sydney in the shoulder. He looks to the girl. "You take care of her, Jo?"

The girl shrugs. "Didn't even hear me coming. Bled out." Her voice is deeper, older than Sydney expected, and she tries to concentrate on that instead of the implications of Jo's words, tries to figure out how old she is, instead of whether they're--

"Dead?"

Jo nods, and Sydney chokes back her tears.

_v. all hum and hover and stuttered must_

The man laughs. "CIA isn't gonna look for you." He crouches, brings his face close to Sydney's. "Not until we get what we want from you, anyway."

Sydney turns her face away, instead watches Jo as she rummages through a suitcase on the bed.

"Which one do you think we should use?" Jo asks, pulling out a smaller case.

He stands. "Pentathol will do."

Jo nods, opens the case and withdraws a vial, another needle.

Sydney sits up, prepares herself for the shot.

There's a knock on the door. Jo and Wolverine exchange wary glances, and Jo replaces the items, then slips into the bathroom. With a warning glance at Sydney, he calls out. "Who is it?"

"Room service," a man outside calls back, and Sydney recognizes the voice.

Wolverine opens the door a crack, and he's answered with the muffled cough of a silencer, falls back to the floor, bleeding from a neat hole in his chest.

Sark pushes the door completely open, leading with his gun and scanning the room. Sydney nods toward the bathroom, and he creeps efficiently to the doorway, then relaxes, shaking his head.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Sydney," he remarks, coolly holstering his gun.

Sydney stands awkwardly, cradling her wrist against her chest. "Just get me out of here, you son of a bitch."

"Of course."

_vi. like a moon he was sharp_

"The girl must have gone through the window," Sark murmurs. He slings his arm over Sydney's shoulders as they walk through the hotel lobby, partially shielding her disheveled appearance.

"Jo?" Sydney starts. "Who is she?"

They exit the hotel, and Sark gestures to the valet before answering her.

"A freelance assassin, of high repute."

"Seriously?" Sydney shakes Sark's arm off. "She's just a kid!"

"Yes," he responds. "Unthinkable that someone so young be trained in our work."

Sydney looks at Sark sidelong, remembering how young he is. How young she was, when she started.

"Besides," Sark continues, "she's killed at least four CIA agents. I should think your compassion wouldn't extend to her."

The valet pulls up in a convertible, and Sark opens the passenger door for Sydney, glancing over his shoulder.

"You might want to hurry."

Sydney slides into the seat, wincing as she jars her wrist. "Why?"

"Jo's behind us."

There's a sharp report, and the valet drops to the ground.

"And she seems upset."


End file.
